


Forged

by Traynor



Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, M/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 06:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traynor/pseuds/Traynor
Summary: What if Neria Surana turns sour after the defeat of the Archdemon. What if when she meets Anders she turns him over to the Templars in Rylock's command. And what if Rylock has a little score to settle with the mage who keeps escaping from the tower and aims to break him before they make it back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an OLD OLD OLD fic I started for the Dragon Age Kink Meme. The thread is [here](https://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/3197.html?thread=6413181#t6413181). The requester asked for anyone/Anders, specifically non-con (preferably Templars). And seeing how I love me some templars, I took it upon myself. Even if it is a bit darker than my normal stuff. When I started this, some IRL stuff kept me from finishing it. Like with What is Mine, I aim to rectify that. So if you like what's here so far, watch for more.

He'd expected her to be different. After all, he knew better than most how the outside world could change a person.   
  
It wasn't that he'd known her well, but there wasn't much to know when you shared a history. Most of them wanted to escape the Circle, even if it was for only ten minutes or uninterrupted freedom in the garden.  
  
Anders needed more than ten minutes. He needed more than the day or two her could claim for himself each time he escaped. Once he'd been gone for nearly a month and it hadn't been enough time, enough sunshine, enough freedom.  
  
They would always know to find him, and no matter how they threatened, it want enough to keep him from trying again. And again.  
  
And again.  
  
This time, his freedom had lasted longer than ever. Nearly three months he'd been gone, and only because luck was on his side. He wanted to think it was the Maker, finally, finally, listening to his pleas, but he knew it was the dark spawn instead that he had to thank. We're it not for Ostagar, things at the tower might not have gone like they did. Amid the chaos that followed it had been easy to sneak away.  
  
He knew things were under control again when he heard about the Templars. They trawled Ferelden in the hopes of recovering lost apostates.   
  
 _Lost_ , as though they'd simply forgotten what shelf he'd been placed on.  
  
And then he met the Warden. She was tough, harder than when he'd last seen her. Her face was full of sharp angles, and the dark circles under her eyes spoke more of the horrors she must have seen than the long nights she kept. He had gone to Amaranthine in the hopes she would take him in, perhaps even grant him conscription as a means to stay out of the tower.  
  
After all, she was a Mage too, wasn't she. A fellow apostate free of the shackles of the circle and with just the right title to keep the Templars from reclaiming her. If she had found solace in the Wardens, maybe she could do the same for him. Who better to give him protection than a former tower Mage, one who knew the perils of a life, confined.  
  
Only, he'd been wrong about her.  
  
The Neria he'd once known had been clever and kind, she'd wanted freedom as much as he had, but had bristled under scrutiny instead of daring to escape. Not once had the Templars been dispatched to find her, while this would be his seventh and from the looks of Templar Rylock… his last, if he were caught.  
  
So he pleaded his case with the Warden Commander. Surely even the hero of Ferelden, who'd cleansed the tower, recruited dwarves and wolves and Templar to her cause would understand.   
  
But she sent him away.   
  
There had been a brief moment, as he stood surrounded by dead Templars that he thought she might welcome him. Then Neria's face had gone dark and he thought instead that she might kill him. In that moment he'd thought that she'd only told him to be on his way, was perhaps a blessing. Still until the Queen had come to Amaranthine, he'd hoped to plead his case in earnest.   
  
Only there was no time for that when the Templars arrived with the Queen. Like so many times in his life, Anders was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The woman at the Queen's side was no less than the Templar that been trailing him for… well he wasn't sure how long she'd been on his tail, only that she needed not to be anymore.

"Neria," he said, as Rylock demanded he be handed over, " please don't make me go back there. You know what it's like there, you know what they'll do to me. You can't send me back."  
  
Her eyes were hard, brown so dark he could barely make out her pupils in them. She stared at him quietly for a moment before the Queen interrupted.  
  
"You do have the right, Warden Commander. As you did with my father, you could enter him into your own service. It is your right to conscript him into your ranks." Her majesty nodded and cocked an eyebrow at the Warden expectantly.   
  
 _Yes. Do that. I don't care what it takes. Don't send me back._  Anders held his breath, and bit down on his tongue to keep from saying any more in case it ruined his chances.   
  
"He's yours, Ser Rylock," Neria said far too quickly for Anders' tastes.   
  
He could've pleaded at her feet, kissed the metal toes of her boots for all the difference it would've made. Neria's face was not the face of the mage he'd once known. The war had changed her too much, and there was no softness to be found in her expression now. And if he was reading her right, even the Queen seemed surprised at her response. If rumor held true, there was no love lost between the women and perhaps they were destined to always be at odds. It would be just his good luck.   
  
"You're certain, Warden?" Queen Anora inquired.  
  
He didn't have the moment to hope the Queen's question could sway her.  
  
"Warden Commander. And I am." The Warden Commander didn't even deign him worthy of notice after deciding his fate.   
  
"As you say," the Queen said with another nod, this time at Templar Rylock.  
  
At the same time the Templar stepped forward and grabbed his arm, a cuff settling over his wrist. Silence slammed down on him, and the world was suddenly gray and muffled. Through the thickness he heard Rylock's gruff voice.  
  
"You've made the right decision, Warden Commander. Thank you."  
  
"If that's all?" Neria asked.  
  
Anders lost track of what was said with Rylock tugging roughly on his arms and pushing him away from the conversation. There was a small contingent of men just beyond the Queen's own forces, Rylock's men, he assumed. Once she had his other hand pulled back and linked into the second cuff, it was all he could do to stand upright as she pushed him towards the soldiers.  
  
Of all the times he'd escape the tower at Kinloch, they'd never gone to these lengths to capture him before. One or two mage hunters and these damnable cuffs were all they usually bothered to send. Had it not been for the roaring headache building behind his eyes he might have felt a little proud of the idea that this last escape warranted this kind of response. He didn't know of many apostates worth this amount of force, really, he didn't even know the Knight Commander had this kind of power. Or this many templars left to send.  
  
Or perhaps the rumors were true after all. Maybe Knight Commander Greagoir had stepped (or been forced) down after all. If that was the case, who knew what he was being returned to.


	2. Chapter 2

The trip into the city wasn't long, but for Anders it was arduous. The cuffs behind his back provided little freedom of movement and the way his magic was restricted kept his senses dull. More than once Rylock cuffed one of his ears, or pressed a hard metal finger between his shoulder blades to keep him attentive and moving forward. Aside from her physical prodding, the woman was disturbingly quiet on the trip. Her orders to her own men were clipped and terse. They followed without complaint and without their own quiet conversation. 

For all her consternation before the Warden and the Queen, the woman seemed to have surprisingly little to say. Maybe he should've been grateful for the quiet. But in truth, he hated every moment of it.

If she yelled at him, he could yell back. If she'd talked normally, they could've kept decent company. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd chatted with his captors on a return to the tower. Most of them hated it as much as he did. If she'd spoken with her men, he could've listened, dropped in a brilliant addition once or twice. Gotten a laugh. 

Anything would've been better than the yawning silence inside him.

Once inside Amaranthine walls, the guardsmen split from them. Anders assumed by their direction they were headed for the tavern. It left him alone in Rylock's strong grip as she led him to an old warehouse. With one hand firmly around his arm, she unlocked the door. Once it was open she shoved him unceremoniously inside.

Behind them, the door slammed shut and without her grip on his arm, Anders toppled forward. He fell to his knees on the hard wooden floor.

"Ouch," he murmured to the floor as he tried unsuccessfully to push himself up. "A little help maybe, Rylock?"

"No."

"Alright," he groused. "Have it your way." Instead of struggling to sit, Anders surrendered to the floor completely. He stretched out his legs, extended his toes to stretch, and then rolled himself towards the nearest wall. It wasn't graceful, sure, but it was better than kneeling at Rylock's feet.

By the time he reached the wall he'd intended to use to sit up, Rylock was standing over him. She sighed and put her boot to his shoulder, shoving him back. His arms ached as they supported his weight, and the cuffs made a horrible squeak as they dug into his wrists and scrapped against the wooden floor.

"Stop moving," Rylock ordered. 

"Stop moving me," he bit back. And for a moment, he was still. The ache in his shoulders was too much though, and after a moment he squirmed against the floor, trying to scoot against the wall to use it as leverage. Rylock's boot was in his face.

"You don't get it, do you?" She moved her foot so she could lean down over him, pressing a knee into his groin as she did.

Anders huffed and stared up at her. "Get what, Rylock? How pleased you are with yourself? Happy the Warden Commander just handed me over? I bet you'll be the envy of all your friends when we get back." His words echoed on teasing, almost song-like as he grinned up at her. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of enjoying his capture. Had he not been given over at Neria's command, this woman would never have caught him.

She ignored his questions and shook her head. "You don't," she spat back. "You don't get what's going to happen to you, apostate."

"I don't?" He cocked his head at her, hair catching on the wooden floorboards. "Have you forgotten this isn't my first time? I've been out before,  _templar_ ," he said mockingly. "I'll be out again."

The woman lowered herself further, sliding her knee to the floor between his legs as she rested her forearm on his chest. "Oh, I haven't forgotten." Her voice was low and threatening and the silence in his stomach made a new friend in the pit of fear nestling there. "I know all about your previous attempts. But believe me when I say this will be your last one."

 

Rylock lifted her arm from his chest long enough to unstrap her gauntlet and slip it off. She leaned down again and swept her thumb over his forehead, pushing loose strands of his hair away from his face. The pad of her thumb pressed down hard at the center of his forehead and he struggled against her, unsuccessfully and only earning further pain in the process. Her lips parted in a sort of lazy half-smile that made his stomach churn, as she stripped off her other gauntlet and set it down next to the first. 

Nodding, her dark hair fell over her eyes as her lips showcased a fearsome smile. "You understand now, apostate. Don't you?" She rested her hands on either side of his face and let her thumbs slide over his cheeks. "I can see it in your eyes." Her fingers laced behind his neck and she tugged on the back of his neck to turn his face up to her. 

Anders could only glare at her, as he fought the numb weight of fear settling in his chest. He couldn't touch his magic now, but his mind was still his, and even if that was only for a just a few more minutes, he wanted to feel the anger and the rage while he still could. They might be the last emotions he would get to experience. 

"I'm not tranquil yet," he said. He set his jaw as he spoke and shook his head, trying to free his face from her hands. Beneath her weight, he struggled against his bonds, and the dizzying pain of being disconnected from his magic.

Rylock chuckled. "Oh no, not yet… Not that it's your decision really." One of her hands went to the pouch at her belt and Anders used the motion to try and squirm out from under her. It was obvious she was stronger than him on a good day, let alone while he lay prone and bound beneath her. All he succeeded in doing was finding a knot in the wood that scraped the back of his head while she held him between her legs and retrieved a note of some kind from her belt.

"Writ from the Knight Commander," she said, waving it at him. "Says I don’t have to wait until I get you back to the tower if I don't want. Whenever I've had enough of your attitude-"

"You… lyrium-addled bitch-"

"… or that tongue of yours, we can dispatch of your magic for good. The chantry here in Amaranthine is perfectly capable of doing what needs to be done. I'm sure the new Knight Commander has better things to do anyhow. Surely you've heard by now what happened after the Warden left."

"… I swear-" His eyes widened as Rylock's words sunk in, his retort forgotten. Nothing she said was good news. He couldn't be sure without asking (and he wouldn't), but he couldn't imagine Knight Commander calling for an annulment. In fact, loathe them as he might, he couldn't imagine anyone at Kinloch calling for an annulment of the tower. Not and still expect to bring mages into the fold of a new circle. But that seemed to be exactly what she was suggesting. Someone had annulled the tower -  _did Neria know?_  - and the woman looking down at him was part of the new order. 

And her first act might be to track him, tranquilize him and return him empty-headed to serve as a slave to whoever was left.

Pleased her message had sunk in, Rylock winked at him and tucked the note away again. He turned away, expecting her hands to grasp his face once more as he did but only one of her hands slid to his neck. Her other hand having returned the writ pressed against his legs, and slid under his robe. And then her hand was firmly on the light trousers he wore beneath, crawling between his legs and if he could've jumped and pushed her away he would have, shocked as he was by her touch. The best he could do was stare at her in disgust. 

"Always wondered if there were proper trousers under those robes." She grinned and his stomach twisted. "Now I know…"Now-" she sighed- "Apostate... do you think you'll learn to behave before we get to Kinloch?" she asked, eyes roaming down to where her hand rested, covered by the pile of fabric she'd lifted between them.

 

He refused to answer, pressing his lips together tight. He could feel his face growing warm and red, anger and embarrassment warring in his expression. The fear he pushed back as far as he could. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

"Oh, cat finally got your tongue, apostate?" Her fingers walked along the outline of his cock against his legs and he couldn't help but gasp at the firm points each time she pressed a finger down. "That's alright," she said softly, "I don't mind if you fight me the whole way. I think it might do you some good to take the trip aware of what waits for you."

He couldn't help himself. "Get your bloody hands off of me, you harpy!"

She arched her brow at him and shook her head. "No… I don't think I will," she said. Her sly smile faded slowly, her eyes darkened and there was a fierceness that hadn't been there the moment before. "I don't take orders from apostates. Least of all, from the likes of you." 

Rylock pressed down against him, the weight of her in armor too much for him to let him catch his breath. She breathed heavily as she moved and he could feel it warm on his cheek, and stale, smelling like the old leather waterskin on her belt.

Anders turned away in disgust, trying to catch his breath. Rylock grabbed his chin to hold his face away from him. Her neck warmed at her breath in the moment just before she bit down. Roughly held, Anders expected her to break the skin but instead, Rylock pressed her tongue against his neck. Wet lips made his ears tingle as she kissed it neck and he had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep his stomach in check. Despite her weight and warmth, he was chilled and shuddering in his restraints. His feet sought for purchase in the wooden floor and he was not gentle as he tried to jerk his knees to give himself more room under her.

She smiled as he struggled against her, and she drew her hand down between them. Her fingers disappeared between her legs and a moment later he felt the tight grip of her hand on his cock through his trousers.

Anders let his head loll back as he realized she had something other than a handful of his limp bits to hold on to. He was disgusted and repelled by her, but it was apparent from the hold she had on his stiffening cock that it hadn't received the message.

"No," he pleaded. His voice was barely more than a whisper, and it cracked when he spoke but he repeated his refusal. "No. No. No."

"No, what? " Her hand squeezed again and that smile of hers turned dark and determined.

"Ser Rylock," Anders managed between stuttering breaths, "don't do this." He couldn't scoot out from under her, but he twisted his body, hoping to wrest free of her grasp.

She was not discouraged by his movements and her hand worked its way under his trews. "This, perhaps?" She lifted herself up to kneel over him, her one hand working on the ties to unfasten his clothing, the other disregarding the barrier completely, her slender hand cold--but warming up-- as she drew her hand down and around his stiff member.

Anders groaned, in frustration, in anger, in embarrassing and disappointing arousal. He shook his head.

"Oh," Rylock said. "Perhaps the apostate has harbored fantasies of bending to a templar's will after all."

(Frozen) ([Parent](https://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/3197.html?thread=43156093#t43156093)) ([Thread](https://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/3197.html?thread=43156349#t43156349))

**Author's Note:**

> I received a comment hoping I'd finish this and while it's not at the top of my list, I thought I'd move it over here so I could work on it as time permits.


End file.
